


And They Were Roommates (In the Afterlife)

by that_litkid



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29853801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_litkid/pseuds/that_litkid
Summary: Tommy didn’t know what death looked like. Maybe it was infinitely large or infinitely small. Maybe it was everything in the way nothing was. He had always thought about what death would look like, feel like, even what it would sound like. This never crossed his mind.OrTommy crosses over into the afterlife and meets up with some old friends.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 11
Kudos: 154





	1. But I've Fallen in Love With a Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> All chpater titles from Four by Sleeping at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy finds himself in the afterlife and it's not at all what he expected it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW // Very chronic and very painful pain
> 
> TW // Blood, death, the whole shabang that comes with Tommy's death

“Okay,” Dream said, “Why don’t you go meet him in person?” Tommy closed his eyes and felt a hard hit on his head that knocked him properly on the floor. He only had a heart and a half, moving hurt. He curled up on the floor and tried to roll his stomach away from Dream, but Dream grabbed his arm and rolled him back around to kick him in the ribs. He coughed. Half a heart.

“Dream!” Tommy spat the words out. No, hold on, that was blood. “Dream, please,” he begged, holding his arms over his stomach and ribs. “I can’t- I can’t breathe.” Tommy only saw Dream’s foot coming for his head, he never felt it. To be fair though, he didn’t feel anything at all. All at once, everything stopped.

It felt like he was nowhere and nothing, he wasn’t occupying space because there wasn’t space to occupy or maybe there was too much of it. Time felt strange, he knew it was passing differently but he didn’t know how and honestly he didn’t care. If he was dying, so be it. He was tired and this nothing was so similar to a dreamless sleep that he let himself fall into it. 

When Tommy next opened his eyes, he was laying in a bed. That’s strange though, since he was last in the prison. Did this mean that Sam finally got him out?

As much as Tommy wished that was the case, he knew better. He’d never seen a house like this before, and he’d stolen from almost every house before, even Sam’s. No, this was something he had yet to see. His bed was home to a red comforter, but that was the most character his room seemed to have. He had a couple empty shelves on the walls and a writing desk was tucked into the corner, but everything felt so bare. Yet it was somehow so familiar, though he had never seen it in his life. His door was open just a crack, but it was enough to see there was another door across from his.

He started to move to sit up - and God, that hurt - when the familiar click of a doorknob opening startled him. The door to the room across from him opened, and Tommy heard someone step out, but he couldn’t see who since his door wasn’t fully open. The person took a couple steps and then paused, and started to slowly make their way towards him. He didn’t know why he felt so scared, but he gritted his teeth through the achy pains of moving and he pushed himself backwards. His breaths were shallow and shaky. The person opened his door fully.

It was Schlatt. He was wearing a blue sweater and some jeans which was the least Schlatt-like thing he had seen in a while, but it was Schlatt nonetheless. They stared at each other for a few seconds, taking in how each other looked and honestly, even the fact that they were there.

“What the fuck?” Schlatt expressed. It was less of a question, more so a statement. Tommy felt rushed to say something, but it all just came out as small, pathetic noises. Schlatt sighed and turned towards the hall. “Wilbur! You know that locked door?”

“Yeah?” Wilbur called back. Wil. Wil was here.

“Well, it’s unlocked!” Schlatt turned back to Tommy, and footsteps started to make their way up the stairs.

“Really?” Wil asked.

“Yeah,” Schlatt said, and turned back to the hall. “And there’s some fuckin’ kid in it.”

“I- wha- you- I am not a fuckin’ child!” Tommy blurted out just as Wilbur turned the corner. He looked… nice. The kind of nice that Tommy hadn’t seen for years with Wil.

“Tommy?” Wil said, brows furrowing and he quickly made his way to Tommy’s side. “Tommy, I- wow, it’s so good to see you.”

“Same,” Tommy said, not about to cry because he is strong and strong means not crying in front of your older brother. Wil carefully put his hands on Tommy’s arms and Tommy flinched. It hurt like a bitch.

“Tommy,” Wil started cautiously, “what are you doing here?” Tommy opened his mouth before he knew if he even had an answer, but quickly shut it. What was he doing here? Last thing he remembered, he was- “Why are you here?”

“I- I don’t know,” Tommy wanted to hug Wil as tight and as hard as he could, but everything throbbed with pain. It took him a couple seconds to think, then he asked, “Wil, am I… Am I dead?” Wilbur looked down and sighed, but that only put more pressure on where he was holding him. It felt like he was being torn apart. “Wil, it hurts.” Wil looked up and quickly took his hands away.

“Shit, sorry. Where- where does it hurt?” Tommy laughed.

“Everywhere. But my- my head and my chest feel like they’re being stabbed over and over,” he chuckled, and brought a hand to his chest. “Hurts like a bitch.”

“Does it actually feel like you’re being stabbed?” Wilbur asked. Tommy narrowed his eyes. “Like, does it actually feel like a knife is stabbing you.”

“I mean I don’t feel like there’s actively a knife in my chest, no.” Wilbur winced. “Why?” Wil seemed to be lost, looking for words he wasn’t going to find.

“It’s how you died,” Schlatt said from the door.

“What?” Tommy asked.

“Do I need to fuckin’ repeat myself? Your ears still work so use ‘em.” Tommy felt his gaze fall to Wil, who was looking at his hands.

“So I really am dead?” Tommy asked, praying that somehow, everything that happened in the past couple minutes were possible if he were alive. Wil nodded his head. “Oh.” Tommy tried not to break.

“Hey, you know what? I was actually going to make some pancakes! You wanna come downstairs with me so you can help?” Wil asked. He clearly wasn’t planning on making pancakes originally, but pancakes were pancakes and Tommy was hungry.

“If by help you mean that you make them and I watch then yes, I will help.” Wil smiled.

“That’s good, Tommy. Do you need help getting up?”

“No, it’s just standing. I can do it,” Tommy said too confidently before swinging his legs off his bed and then trying to stand on them. He ended up on the floor. “Shit, okay. So apparently I can’t do it.” Tommy tried to laugh but God, everything hurt so much.

“Here, I’ll just,” Wil leaned over Tommy and slowly picked him up. Tommy let him because while everything hurt to touch, Wil’s hands and everything seemed to hurt just a little less.

He was carried down a set of stairs and laid onto a couch. He opened his eyes to see Wil coming out of what he assumed was the linen closet, carrying a soft blanket. He laid it over Tommy.

“Thank you, Wil,” he said, burying his face into the new comfort.

“No problem.” When Tommy looked up, Wil had walked into what was probably the kitchen and was doing some organizing. The main floor was mostly one room, it seemed. The living room was barely separated from the dining room and the kitchen, only a difference in flooring and a half-wall separating things. Wil looked back at him. “What kind of pancakes do you want?”

“Uh, can you do chocolate chips?” Wil opened the cabinet and pulled out a box of chocolate chip pancake mix, smiling. “Pog.”

The pancakes wafted a pleasant smell towards Tommy that begged to pull his sore and aching body back into whatever deep rest he was in before coming here, wherever here may be. Wilbur was humming some distant tune and the light sounds of batter being baked against the hot pan made wherever this was almost feel like home.

Almost.

Tommy, wrapped in blankets and in crippling pain, wanted one thing more than anything else he could think of, but he knew that he couldn’t get it. Him. Tubbo. Thinking about Tubbo made Tommy’s heart ache. When he thought about dying, he knew he at least wanted to say bye to Tubbo, tell him how much he means to him, all that stupidly bittersweet and cheesy bullshit dying people do. He hadn’t even told Tubbo he was leaving to see Dream, Tommy didn’t want to think about if Tubbo noticed he was gone or not.

“Hey,” Wil said, nudging Tommy. He flinched at the touch. “Pancakes. They’re at the table, think you can make it on your own? You can bring the blanket.”

“I better be allowed the fuckin’ blanket, I feel like I’m going to die. Again.” Tommy said, before quickly adding “But I would appreciate having your arm for the walk if you don’t mind.” Without any hesitation, Wil stuck out his arm for Tommy to use for stability. The walk was painful.

“Why are you all like this?” Tommy asked, halfway there through shaky breaths. Wilbur raised his brow.

“All like what?”

“You know, all nice and shit.” Tommy sat in the chair at the table that had a plate of pancakes in front of it and closed his eyes, trying to see through the mind fog that pain creates. “You used to be all, you know, crazy and shit. I just- I don’t know why you’re being all like my older brother and stuff.”

“Don’t call me that, I will cry,” Wil chuckled.

“No seriously though, what- what happened?” Tommy opened his eyes to see Wilbur getting himself a plate of pancakes as well. For a minute, there was only the sounds of cutlery at work.

“Death… is strange, Tommy. It works in weird ways. After the pain slowly dulls and gets easier to deal with and your head stops being so foggy or in shock or whatever, you’re left with a certain… clarity. It’s like I lived my whole life with a cold that I only recovered from when I died.” Wilbur sat across from Tommy and poked at his food for a second. “And, I don’t know if you know, Tommy, but death seems to last forever. Forever is a long time, you know? What do you do once you clear your head and you have endless time? You think. A lot.” Wilbur took a bit of his pancakes. “And I have thought. A lot. My head is clear and I’ve done the type of thinking that you can only do with a deadly clear mind. I… don’t… like the person that I was too much. I want to be better. Do better. You know?” A thick silence settled between them.

“No,” Tommy started, I don’t really know because I feel like my brain is wrapped in cottony shit, but I think I’ll understand eventually. Maybe. Or maybe I was the perfect person. Nobody should have ever doubted me ever.” They shared a laugh at that. The pancakes tasted good. The pain was slowly getting easier to ignore. Everything felt okay.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how…” Wil trailed off, but he didn't need to finish. Tommy knew what he was going to ask.

“I got beat.” Wil winced. “By Dream, when I visited him in prison. Wait, you don’t know about the prison, do you? Okay so basically- wait there’s no easy way to explain all this because you’ve been gone for so long. I don’t know where to start.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wil assured him. “I know about the prison.”

“I- you- you- wait, how- no, wait- you know about the prison? How? And wait, if you knew about the prison, why didn’t you know about how I died?” Wil smiled. It was laced with smugness, invisible to those who didn’t know how to read Wilbur. Tommy knew how to read Wilbur. Even if he was nicer, it was still the same sarcastic and witty Wil he called his brother.

“We have a book,” he said, as if that would clear anything up. “And a TV.”

“Okay. What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Tommy asked, and Wilbur got up and left the room. When he came back, he was holding a large, black, leatherbound book. It had the words “The Script” written on the front. Wil sat down again and opened the book.

“See, it should be here now, just give me a second… Ah, there we go.” Wilbur flipped the book around to show the page to Tommy. “One of the last couple things written. It’s red because it’s very important.” Sure enough, written in red ink inside this supposed “script” were the words, “Tommyinnit loses his last life” under the subsection of March 1st, 2021.

“What the fuck. How is that- is that even possible|?” Tommy breathed out, shaky.

“Yeah, I mean a lot of things around here are strange. Like how whenever we need something it just kind of… shows up. It’s a really weird situation but I’m happy to live with it. We also have a TV in the attic that only plays what’s happening in the world of the living and all that. Different channels are like different people’s points of view or something.” Tommy sat and held his aching head in his hands.

“So you’re watching our lives like a reality show or some shit? Kind of fucked up, innit?” Tommy sighed, looking up at Wil who only shrugged.

“Well, forever is a long time. Might as well keep up with everything happening,” Wil said, then he got up to put the book away. “I couldn’t watch your channel after you got stuck in prison with Dream, I just- It was just a little too much for me. To watch you hurt like that without being able to step in and help. Same kind of thing happened during your… your exile.”

“Oh, that’s fair,” Tommy shrugged. “It was a little too much to live it too.” A pause. Wilbur returned to the table, just about to finish his pancakes. “So you- you hurt how you die?” Wil nodded, mouth filled. “How- how do you hurt?” Wilbur took a second, looking lost once again.

“It feels like how you would expect having a sword in your chest does. It’s a stabbing pain and it hurts. I mostly tune it out now, though. So it doesn’t really matter does it?” Wilbur had that look in his eye- the kind that he always had when he talked about Phil before he joined the server. The kind that meant he was sad but didn’t want to talk about it, so Tommy didn’t.

“Well, what do you even do around here?” Tommy asked.

“We keep up with the living world, obviously, and we- we read a lot and we learn some cool hobbies. We talk a lot too. Forever is a long time to hate somebody, even longer to never talk to anyone. So Schlatt and I, we’ve… generally settled our differences. I think you should do the same.” Wil finished his pancakes around the same time Tommy did, so Wil picked both their plates up and took them to the sink. “You should get some sleep. Dying is exhausting. You could even say it drains the life out of you.” Wil laughed far too loud for the stupid joke he made.

“I will hit you,” Tommy said, trying really hard no to laugh at such a stupid joke.

“Don’t do that, you’ll probably just end up hurting yourself even more,” Wil said, calming himself.

“Shut up, dickhead.”

“No, seriously, Tommy, you should get some sleep. You’ve probably been through a lot.” It was only then that Tommy realized that he really had been through a lot. Not even just in the past week or anything, just in general. He wanted to go over all of it now, but if he was being honest he was really tired. He just wanted to go to sleep. He had forever to go over his life a thousand times. “Can you get up yourself?” Wil asked and Tommy nodded, really knowing he could do it.

“Yeah, but could you help me again? I’ll need your arm for when I walk. I’m not even trying to think about the stairs right now. Have you tried not having stairs in your shitty ghost house, Wil?”

“It’s a lovely little house and you know full well that’s not how that works. Now let’s get you back to your room.” Wil stood up and stuck his arm out for Tommy when he stood up. They slowly made their way towards Tommy’s room, somehow slowing down more when they had to go up the stairs, but eventually they made it to the top. Before Tommy reached his door, Schlatt stepped out of Tommy’s room holding something.

“This your fuckin’ cat?” Schlatt asked, holding out a very familiar pet.

“Pussboy!” Tommy exclaimed and the cat jumped from Schlatt’s arms and circled around Tommy’s legs, weaving in and out and around the blanket draped around his shoulders.

“Pussboy?” Schlatt laughed. “What kind of a name is that?”

“Well he’s a pussy and he’s a boy,” Tommy said, starting to walk again. Pussboy followed. “He likes me a lot more than I thought he would.”

“Why wouldn’t he like you?” Wil asked. Tommy looked at the cute, round face of his beloved pet.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Kay, well. You have to feed the thing and take care of it. I don’t do that shit,” Schlatt said, retreating into what Tommy assumed was his room. Wil offered a small smile and once Tommy was situated in his bed, with Pussboy by his side, Wil left him alone for the first time since they saw each other.

As much as Wil joked about it, there was some truth behind it. Dying truly was exhausting. Tommy felt as though he had gone through some sort of spiritual paper shredder and all he wanted was sleep. The low noise of Pussboy’s purring mixed with the exhaustion of a long day soon dragged Tommy into a deep, Dreamless sleep. He would worry about everything tomorrow. For now, he rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awe look at them!! They're all roommatey and stuff :]
> 
> Anyways I need to go compliment my friend so if you're reading this, compliment someone you've wanted to compliment for a while! And drink some water too because that would be very poggers!
> 
> And if I don't see you, have a good morning, good evening, and good night. :]


	2. I Lost My Balance When I Needed it Most

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Wilbur have spent their entire lives dancing around each other's issues, even causing some of them. However, as seems to be the case with most things, now that they aren't alive it's so very different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW // Yelling, chronic pain
> 
> TW // Abuse, gaslighting, implied past abuse, mild violence, implied panic attack, threats, characters triggering each other

When Tommy woke up, at first he didn’t know where he was. His body felt extremely heavy and yet extremely light. Light in a way he had never felt when alive, but moving was still much more of a struggle than he expected. Oh, that’s right, he died. He still hurt, too. He thought it may have dulled, but this pain was almost as bad as the first time he woke up here. He layed in bed for a while, willing everything to stop. That’s what you would expect from death, right? When you die, you expect a neverending nothingness one way or another. Nothing would have been better than this. This was chronic pain that would last for eternity and eternity if a long time. Tommy didn’t want to think about waking up every day to this awful mind-numbing pain that was near crippling - but not quite.

After a few minutes, Tommy groaned and rolled out of bed, being careful not to disturb Pussboy. He looked down at his dirty clothes, wishing he had something to change into. When he looked back up, his room was… different. Furniture around his room was rearranged and there was now a closet pushed against the wall where there had previously been nothing. Slowly, Tommy stood up and walked to the closet, and when he opened it, it was filled with a bunch of his clothes. This was most definitely not normal, at least not for the average life when you’re, well, alive.

“Whenever we need something it just kind of… shows up,” Tommy remembered Wil saying. He couldn’t help but laugh a little. He didn’t think that it would be like this. Still, he wasn’t complaining. He took note of that, deciding that he would change after breakfast and possibly a shower. Getting breakfast would require a lot of energy but Tommy thinks that just maybe he can do it on his own, he could at least try to get up and down the stairs.

He walks out of his room and slowly, with his hand on the wall at all times, gets himself to the main floor where Schlatt was sitting on the couch, reading in pajama pants and a t-shirt. This is probably the most casual that Tommy had ever seen Schlatt. The clock on the bookshelf says that it’s 6:30AM.

“Hey,” Tommy says. Schlatt looks up from his book. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. I have eternity to sleep in but I have even more time to make myself better as cheesy as that sounds. You know, early birds get the worm and all that shit.” Tommy nods, and works his way towards the kitchen table.

“Where’s Wil?”

“Probably watching what’s happening on the TV or something, I don’t know. He’s awake but I haven’t seen him.” Tommy nodded.

“So what do we have to eat?”

“Whatever you want. I thought Wilbur already went over all this with you.” Tommy feels like he could start an argument, but he never has as much energy when he wakes up. It’s always been that way.

“Well, I mean, he did. It’s just hard to get my head around,” he says, meaning it more than he thought he would. “What do you normally have?”

“Me?” Schlatt asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you. You’re getting all healthy and shit, eh? Why not try out something like that.” Schlatt takes a moment to think, and then sighs.

“Usually I have a coffee and blueberry muffin. Today I had a chocolate chip muffin though.”

“Mm, yeah.” Tommy opened the cupboard and a couple packages of muffins sat inside. “Chocolate chip sounds good.” He pulled the package open and got himself the most chocolatey-looking muffin from the bunch.

“You’re not actually gonna have coffee, are you?” Schlatt asks, and Tommy looks back. His neck really hurt to turn though, so quickly he faced straight forward again.

“Maybe.”

“Don’t do it,” he says, quickly followed by the sound of a page flipping. “It’s a fuckin stupid idea with the level of energy you normally have. You’d buzz so hard with energy you’d send yourself back to life,” Schlatt laughs. Tommy looks for the cupboard that holds the cups and mugs.

“Well, what else would I have, dickhead?” he asks, finally finding the right cabinet.

“I don’t know, have some juice or something. What do you kids like nowadays?”

“I’m not a kid,” Tommy mutters, but he grabs a cup and opens the fridge anyways. There’s some orange juice sitting inside that Tommy doesn’t realize he’s been wanting until he sees it. He pours himself a glass and sits at the table. For a moment, Tommy sits comfortably with the silence in the air, only filled with the sounds of his eating and pages turning every so often.

It’s too early to think, far earlier than he would normally be up but maybe since he fell asleep far sooner than he also normally would, it would only make sense to be up at this time. He thinks about everything that he has to do today, which is simultaneously everything and nothing. There was so much to do but there also was, quite literally, an infinite amount of time. None of it had to happen right now. Still, if there was one thing he wanted to do, it was take a shower and change. 

“Hey,” Tommy started and Schlatt hummed back. “Where’s the shower?”

“Door on your side of the hallway closest to the stairs,” he says, and Tommy stands up to put his dirty cup in the sink. “Be careful though, you only got here yesterday. Don’t push yourself too hard.” Tommy hummed and started to make his way back upstairs. Getting up was so much harder than getting down. Logically, that is to be expected, and yet he was somehow still surprised by it. Finally, after what felt like too long, he got into the bathroom and shut the door. It was completely clean with a couple big, fluffy, white towels set off to the side. Everything looked so modern and new compared to whatever Tommy had lived with before when he was alive.

‘This will be nice,’ he thought.

It was not.

Firstly, he had to figure out how the shower worked and since it was more modern - and thus inherently more confusing - than anything Tommy had seen, he had to figure out how to work a shower with functions he didn’t even know could exist. Once the shower was on and at the right temperature, he then realized that no temperature was the right temperature to soothe the throbbing ache in all his muscles and while he knew there was some way to change the water pressure, he didn’t know how to do it which mean he was stuck with pressure that was too strong and hurt when it hit the wrong place. Still, through all the struggle, Tommy had showered and was in one of those amazing fluffy towels in the end, and had even managed to make his way to his room and change into some new, clean clothes.

It was when Tommy finished getting dressed that he heard Wilbur shouting. It came from above him and it was laced with a poison he came to be familiar with in Pogtopia. He opened the door to his room and followed the noise up the staircase at the end of the hall, leading him to the attic. There were some chairs, a couch, a large TV playing something and a very angry Wlbur with his back to Tommy.

“What in the everloving fuck is wrong with them?! What the fuck?! You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!! Stop fucking talking!!” Tommy fought the urge to make himself as small as possible. He knew what to do, he knew what he had to do, he just had to do what he always did when this happened. It would probably hurt for a little bit but the screaming would stop, it would stop and Wilbur would be better. Tommy slowly approached Wilbur, careful not to be too loud. “This is bullshit, what the fuck are they doing?! What the fuck are they doing?! When those motherfuckers get here, I’ll have them hung by the neck for the rest of eternity!! Just you fucking wait you stupid-”

“Wilbur.” Tommy said carefully. Wilbur turned around and faced Tommy, face dropping quickly.

“Tommy, I- you shouldn’t- I’m sorry, I just,” Wilbur looked back at the TV and back at Tommy.

“Wilbur, what happened?” Wilbur stuttered out a few half-apologies as Tommy went to look at the TV. Wilbur raised his hand to block Tommy from seeing the screen and Tommy violently flinched backwards. “Sorry,” he found himself saying before he could stop it. Wilbur lowered his hand slightly and looked at Tommy, eyes soft and brows furrowed. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Wilbur asked, bringing his other hand up to hold Tommy’s cheek. The second he made contact, Tommy flinched back again, hitting Wilbur’s hand backwards and tripping over himself, falling to the floor. His breath was shaky yet focused. He had to remind himself to breathe every time he did it. Why was he shaking? His hands were shaking. Wilbur approached again, lowering himself to Tommy’s level. “Tommy, why are you- what- what happened?” he asked. “Who- what did- you didn’t even see the, the screen, so I,” Wilbur continued to trip over his words with no grace whatsoever. “Tommy, please,” Wilbur reached out and held onto Tommy’s wrist, Tommy quickly shook him off, still clearly panicked.

“Stop fuckin’ touching me!! Stop!!” He shouted, pulling himself away. Wilbur’s brows furrowed.

“What the hell did I even do? Did I even really do anything, Tommy? I don’t think I did anything. Really, I was just trying to help you.”

“Yeah,” Tommy laughed lowly. “You’re real fucking good at that, huh?” Wilbur stood up and stepped back.

“What? Why are you saying it like that?”

“Just fucking look at me,” Tommy said shakily to Wilbur. “This isn’t normal!”

“Tommy,” Wilbur started, shoulders relaxing a little, voice going quieter. “Who told you that you aren’t normal?”

“You,” Tommy spat. “You did.” There was a moment where Wilbur seemed to shatter entirely, his eyes darkening as if no progress had been made since he woke up in this house. Last time Tommy saw Wilbur like this was November 16th.

“Oh, come on, Tommy,” his words were low and poisonous.

“You did! You told me all the time! All the fucking time you would-”

“I never meant it like that, Tommy. Come on, stop being a pussy.” Wilbur’s gaze was steely; cold, hard, unmoving. Tommy could feel it.

“There you go!” Tommy’s chest hurt. “You keep doing it again and again and again! Telling me to stop being a pussy isn’t going to help me!!”

“What else am I supposed to do?!” Wilbur took a step forward, Tommy pulled himself back again, back hitting the wall. “I keep trying to help you every way that I think would be best for you but in the end you just fuck it up! You always fuck it up! For you, for me, for everyone, Tommy!! Everyone! I care about you and it seems like you never do about me!” Wilbur took another step forward. “I did everything I could to help you, Tommy! I always have!”

“Yeah, like killing yourself was everything you could do to help me!” Tommy shouted, hands over his face. He was blinded with fear and overwhelming emotions he couldn’t quite figure out the right words for. His eyes stung. “You decided to drag me into a couple wars, let me die for you a couple times, and in the end you give it all up and kill yourself!! Yeah, leaving me all alone and broken like that is exactly what’s going to help me, Wilbur!! Good job!” Wilbur snatched his wrist and pulled it away from his face, forcing Tommy to look directly at Wilbur.

“Don’t you dare ever say that to me.” Tommy scrambled, pulling and twisting his arm in all different directions, trying to pry it out of Dre- Wilbur’s grip. Wilbur kept it steady. “Do you hear me? Never say that ever again.” His words were dark, a real threat.

“Let me go!! Let me go please, please just let me go!”

“Do you hear me?!”

“I hear you, I hear you! Please please please just let me go please, I’m sorry.” Wilbur let go of Tommy’s wrist and straightened his back, eyes cold.

“That’s what I thought,” Wilbur said, walking towards the stairs to go down. Laughter came from the TV speakers. “Last time I ever try to help you.” Tommy sat in the room alone for longer than he will ever tell anyone. He let himself feel the emotions for once, every single part of it. He held his knees close to himself and he let himself cry because no one would know. The TV filled the general silence with the laughter of a group of people he thought he knew. They were celebrating his death, they even had a party set up. Tommy wished Wilbur was still blocking the screen for him, but the last thing he wanted was for Wilbur to come back upstairs.

After the tears and the thoughts all drained from him and he sat until he felt he had enough energy to go downstairs, at least to his room. It took him longer than he would like to admit to get down the stairs, so when he finally closed his bedroom door behind him, he let the exhaustion he was feeling take over, and he laid on his bed. A small head popped out from the covers and mewed at him.

“Pussboy,” he breathed, relieved. The cat pushed itself out of the blankets and rubbed himself against Tommy. “You always show up just when I need you, eh?” Pussboy continued to rub himself against Tommy’s side. Tommy sat up to pet him, which was very well received from the cat. Loud purring was radiating from Pussboy, and Tommy couldn’t help but smile. “You almost remind me…” Tommy paused on the last words, feeling as though they were caught in his throat. “You almost remind me of Tubbo. If he was a cat, he’d probably act just like you.

Pussboy stared up at Tommy, large green eyes innocent and light. Tommy couldn’t help the tears that came to his eyes. Today had been emotional and he clearly still hadn’t recovered from his encounter with Wilbur. Still, there was a sort of shame that came with it, he was supposed to be strong. He told himself yesterday that he wouldn’t cry in front of Wilbur and though he clearly broke that promise, it still felt wrong to do it over something so small. Tommy wiped his eyes with his hands and took in a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I- I killed you, I killed you. With my bare hands. I killed you with my bare hands to get back at Dream. It was so stupid and I’m sorry.” Pussboy rubbed himself against Tommy again and meowed. It felt like an acceptance of the apology, but Tommy still felt he needed to add an extra, “Sorry.” Tommy let himself sit with just the purring of the cat in his ears. After a minute or two when he had calmed down a little, he found himself saying, “I miss Tubbo.” He meant it. He really meant it.

In the back of his head, in Wil’s voice, he heard the words, “I mean a lot of things around here are strange. Like how whenever we need something it just kind of… shows up.”

Tommy didn't want to think about that too hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nooo don't accidentally possibly put your best friend's life in danger ahahah
> 
> Also, don't think too hard about where I use the name Wil vs Wilbur in this story :] There's definitely not a pattern there that you could notice even if you looked in the first chapter :]]]
> 
> Now, you know the drill. Drink some water, compliment someone because life is too short to keep that compliment to yourself, and if I don't see you, have a good morning, good evening, and good night!


End file.
